


Here Isn't There and There is Out of Reach

by Brokenrook



Category: due South
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Homesickness, Hurt/Comfort, Ice Skating, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-14 21:02:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29548329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brokenrook/pseuds/Brokenrook
Summary: "A friend is someone who won't stop until he finds you, and brings you home." Season 1, Episode 3 "Manhunt"After the first snow of the season hits Chicago, Fraser begins to act weird. Well, weirder than usual. Ray is worried Fraser is going somewhere he can't follow, so he sets out to discover what's wrong, and to bring Fraser back to normal, if he can.
Relationships: Benton Fraser & Ray Kowalski, Benton Fraser/Ray Kowalski, Ray Kowalski & Francesca Vecchio
Comments: 11
Kudos: 12





	Here Isn't There and There is Out of Reach

**Author's Note:**

> It always amazes me that new fanfiction is still being written for Due South, and so much of it is so good, that I felt like I had to get in on the fun. Hope you enjoy!

It didn’t take a genius to figure out what was wrong with Fraser, but Ray didn’t even know where to even start.

When they first met, Ray was certain Fraser had a brain tumour, but eventually, he got used to the mountie’s eccentricities. He grew on him. Like a mould. He got used to Fraser being unpredictable, and he got used to the idea that there would always be another layer of weirdness to discover. 

So when the first snow of the winter season hit Chicago, and Fraser got a little more eccentric, Ray didn't think much of it. So what if Fraser would rather walk to the precinct in the mornings, and politely declined rides home? This guy licked things Ray wouldn't even dream of touching, a few sub-zero walks were drops of water in the crazy bucket.

When Fraser started spending more time talking to himself than usual, Ray chalked it up to additional stress. Fraser had been putting in a lot of extra hours at the consulate. Or at least that where he suspected Fraser was all the time. Where else could he be?

In fact, it wasn’t until he came into the precinct after his coffee break to find Francesca lounging at his desk with a look that could curdle milk that he even paused.

“Francesca, get out of my chair will ya?” Ray huffed, nudging the rolling chair with his toe.

“Nu-uh, sit down.” She motioned to the folding chair that sat opposite the desk. “We’ve got to chat. About Fraser.”

“What about ‘im?” 

“Well first off, where is he?” 

“How am I supposed to know?” Ray shot back. “He’s gotta do his consulate thing, I’m not his keeper.”

“He’s been acting strange.”

Ray laughed. “Fraser’s two trumpets short of a brass band. He’s always acting strange. He’s Canadian, he can’t help it.”

“No, not like that.” Francesca rolled her eyes. “You mean you can’t see it? The dark circles? The way he keeps zoning out?”

“What’re you even talking about? Fraser is fine.” Ray said, shaking his head. Fraser was always fine.

“I never see him eat anything anymore, isn’t that strange? He gives everything to Diefenbaker.” 

“Maybe he doesn’t like your cooking, Frannie,” Ray smirked.

“Stop screwing around, I’m serious.” 

Sighing, Ray conceded. “Fine, I’ll go to the consulate after I finish up some paperwork.”

“Ray.”

“What?” 

Francesca raised her eyebrows a dangerous millimetre. 

“Fine! I’ll go now.” Ray groaned and stood up, pulling on his coat. “But I ain’t happy about it.” 

“I don’t care about happy, I care about results!” Francesca called as Ray left the precinct.

* * *

The windows of the consulate were dark, but the front door was unlocked, which Ray didn’t know if he should take as a good sign or a very bad sign. 

_Are consulates like churches?_ Ray wondered as he stalked down the cavernous hallway towards Fraser’s office. _Doors always unlocked for asylum seekers? Or is this a Canadian thing?_

_Or is something wrong?_

With that thought, Ray unholstered his sidearm but kept the safety on. If he blew a hole in Fraser, Francesca would never forgive him. Plus, he didn’t want to be the second partner to have shot Fraser. 

It turns out Ray didn’t have to worry about that, because as he pushed open the door to Fraser’s office he found it empty. 

_What?_

Holstering his gun, Ray flicked on the light and surveyed the room now bathed in the dim light from the single lightbulb. 

He’d only been in Fraser’s office a handful of times, and in those instances, he had really only been there for a few minutes. For someone who would give a stranger his entire paycheque, Fraser was strangely protective about his space. 

So, of course, now that he had the opportunity, Ray did some snooping. 

There wasn’t much office to snoop through, so Ray quickly turned his attention to the most interesting object in the room. Squished between the wall and the foot of Fraser’s coffin-narrow cot, there was a large steamer trunk, which Ray surmised was where Fraser kept anything of value. Giving it a tug, he dislodged it from its place and pulled on the latch. 

A combination lock clattered against the metal of the trunk accusingly. Locked.

Examining the lock, Ray found himself pausing. Obviously whatever was in this trunk was valuable enough to Fraser to keep it locked up, and it felt a bit like an invasion of privacy to open it. 

_Still, a little peek couldn’t hurt._ Ray reasoned. _What if Francesca is right and something is wrong with Fraser?_

 _Maybe Fraser is on drugs and that’s why he’s so kooky._ Ray thought. _A partner, no, a friend, would open the trunk._

Feeling justified, even though he knew it was total horseshit to suspect Mr. “Oh I’ll just have some tea, thank you kindly” of substance abuse, Ray examined the lock. It was a four-digit lock, nothing too intense. 

“Probably a year,” Ray mused aloud. “But which one?”

Birth year? Fraser’s two years younger than me, so 1962 should be right. 

The lock did not budge. 

“Okay then.” Ray huffed. “Maybe his mother?” 

Ray recalled Fraser telling him that his mother had died when he was about five, and she had been nearly thirty at the time, so her birth year would be somewhere around 1937.

Ray tried 1937, then 1935, 36, 38 and 39 for good measure. No dice. 

Sighing, Ray dropped the lock. After his mother, the next logical choice would be his father, then his grandparents, then what, Diefenbaker? 

Ray paused. _What if I’m approaching this the wrong way?_

A regular person would pick a birthdate, but Fraser isn’t regular. 

_What does Fraser love beyond all reason?_

Then it hit him, and he had to laugh as his fingers fumbled for the dial. 

1.....

8.....

6....

“I swear Frase....” Ray trailed off as he spun to the last number.

7.

And the lock popped off.

“Of course you’d pick that.” Ray snorted, suddenly glad he had paid enough attention to Fraser’s history lessons to remember which year Canada became a country. 

Having dealt with the lock, Ray popped the chest open to examine the contents. 

There wasn’t much. 

On the far left side, there was a pair of hockey skates, in the middle, two stacks of books, and on the far side, there was a god ugly knitted jumper, draped not so conspicuously as to conceal what was underneath it.

“Here we go.” Ray grinned, and moved the sweater out of the way, expecting to find the Canadian equivalent of a centrefold, or a box of condoms, or some cigarettes, or at least a bottle of liquid courage, any sort of vice, and was rewarded. 

“Cigars?” Ray smiled and pulled the box out, but was quickly disappointed when he slid the lid off to find photographs instead. 

Disappointed, but still terminally curious, Ray flipped through the photos. 

There were only four of them, all of them taken a while ago. 

The first, and undoubtedly the oldest, was a wedding photo showing a groom with Fraser’s jaw and a bride with his dark hair. His parents. 

The second was of an elderly man and woman with a young boy standing between them, holding up a large fish like a trophy. The little boy was smiling so widely, Ray’s jaw twinged in sympathy. All three individuals were wearing heavy snow gear, but Ray recognized the boy’s dimples and glittering eyes. This was Fraser and his grandparents. 

The third was a group of mounties on horseback, all dressed in their crimson with their boots shined so brightly they rivalled mirrors. Ray recognized Fraser on the fourth horse from the left. Even though his face was schooled into a polite smile, he looked incandescently happy. Ray hadn’t realized that Fraser had taken part in the mounted part of Royal Canadian Mounted Police. He hadn’t realized that Fraser could look so happy. 

The final photo was a landscape shot. The view from a mountain top. Ray had no clue which one, but from the amount of snow, and the telltale blur of white fur he spotted in the right corner, Ray assumed Fraser had taken it before he and Dief had left Canada. 

Well, that was a bust. Ray thought, moving to place the box back in the trunk when he noticed what had been tucked underneath the cigar box. 

“Oh, you naughty boy.” Ray laughed as he gently lifted the oil cloth-wrapped bundle from the trunk and placed it in his lap.

Fraser had told him when they first became partners that he wasn’t allowed to carry a firearm, but what Ray was unwrapping was without a doubt a handgun in a leather holster and a box of ammunition.

The weapon looked to be standard issue, probably the sidearm Fraser used in Canada, but Ray couldn’t help but shake his head as he rewrapped it. It was ironic that Fraser would chastise him for running a stop sign in an empty intersection, but kept an illegal firearm. 

_Uphold the right, eh Fraser?_ Ray snorted, as he moved on to the two stacks of books.

The first stack Ray recognized as a collection of the notebooks Fraser was always toting around. His father’s journals. Ray idly thumbed through the stack but did not give them much attention. Honestly, he didn’t have many fond feelings about Fraser’s father. Fraser seemed to worship him unconditionally, but Ray wasn’t his son, so he was more inclined to judge. The way Fraser spoke about him made him sound more like a commanding officer than a parent. 

Moving onto the other stack, Ray’s brow furrowed in confusion. 

It was a hodgepodge of magazines, reference texts, and travel books, most of them marked with discard stickers, signalling to Ray that Fraser had fished them out of the reject bin at the library. Altogether, the books were seemingly unremarkable, yet Fraser kept them locked up with his sidearm and family photos, and Ray couldn’t understand it. 

_Maybe Fraser is holding out on me._ Ray mused and began flipping through the books looking for cash tucked between the pages when he suddenly stopped. 

_Oh_.

The books weren’t random, they all had one thing in common. They all had pictures of the Arctic. 

Fraser had kept these books because they reminded him of home. 

“Oh, Fraser.” Ray breathed, ghosting his fingers over a glossy photo of a snowy shoreline. 

Just then, he heard a bark echo down the corridor. 

_Shit_. Near frantic, Ray stuffed the books back into the trunk, scrambling to get the lid closed, the lock replaced, and the trunk in its proper place before Fraser caught him in the act. Just as he got the trunk lodged back between the wall and the bed he heard a curious voice at the door.

“Ray?”

Looking up, Ray found Fraser standing in the half-open door, hand up as if he was poised to knock like he was the one invading Ray’s space.

“Frase!” Ray smiled widely, acting as if he had just gotten to the consulate a few minutes ago. “Buddy, where’ve you been?”

“I was chauffeuring Constable Turnbull and Inspector Thatcher to the airport,” Fraser said slowly, still looking Ray up and down carefully.

Ray cursed silently, knowing that if Fraser assessed he’d find out what he’d been doing. He’d notice some fleck of dust on his shirt that only exists in cigar boxes full of photos and catch him. To distract him, Ray continued the conversation “I thought you didn’t have a car?”

“Ah, yes, I personally don’t have a motor vehicle, but the consulate does have a vehicle to be used for official business.”

“Turnbull and Thatcher going to a conference or something?” Ray asked, moving to lean against Fraser’s desk.

“No, not exactly. Inspector Thatcher is going to Miami for reasons she did not disclose to me, and Turnbull is going to Kamloops.”

“Kamloops?”

“It’s a town in the interior of British Columbia.”

“And what’s that got to do with Turnbull?”

“He is from there,” Fraser explained.

“Figures.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You know, Kamloops, loops, loopy? Turnbull? You know what, never mind. So they’re both going on vacation?” 

Fraser rubbed his eyebrow. “No, I don’t believe so, since they are both still receiving compensation while they are away.”

“So they’re going on paid-vacation?”

“Yes, well uh no, you see, it’s a little more-“

“Can it Frase,” Ray put his hand up. “It really doesn’t matter. When do you leave?”

Fraser frowned. “Leave?”

“You know, holidays? If Thatcher and Turnbull have flown the coop shouldn’t you be next? When are you going back to Inukshuk or Tuktoyaktuk or wherever you came from?” 

“Inuvik,” Fraser corrected. “And I’m not leaving this year. Inspector Thatcher has deemed it necessary that I stay in Chicago until informed otherwise.”

“So she goes to the beach and you stay here?”

“While I cannot confirm if Inspector Thatcher is going to the beach in Miami, yes, that is the gist of the situation.”

“Fraser, buddy, come on.” Ray sighed. “You can’t let her walk all over you like that.”

“On the contrary, she is my superior officer, I believe that walking over me, and Turnbull, is in her job description. Like how Lieutenant Welsh can tell you to-“

“Nuh-uh.” Ray cut him off. “Welsh wouldn’t pull this kind of shit, that lady, she’s a....a, you know, slavedrier.”

“Do you mean slavedriver, Ray?”

“You know what I mean.” Ray waved him off.

“It’s really not an issue,” Fraser said, setting his hat down on the desk next to Ray. “I’ll go home next year.”

“Next year? You can’t go when Turnbull gets back?” 

Fraser didn’t answer immediately, taking a seat in his desk chair. His brows were furrowed as if he was trying to solve a difficult equation in his head. Ray took the opportunity to look him over.

Francesca was on to something, Fraser didn’t look like himself. He had dark circles under his eyes, his skin was sallow, and Ray couldn’t quite tell but it looked a bit like Fraser’s uniform was beginning to hang off of him, like he had lost weight.

Almost instinctively, Ray placed his hand on Fraser’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. Fraser looked up at him and Ray was struck by how blue his eyes were against the shadows under his eyes. How had he never noticed that before?

Fraser cleared his throat and looked away, shifting subtly, almost as if he was trying to remind Ray where his hand was. 

Ray pulled his hand back like he’d been burned.

“Maybe next year,” Fraser repeated. 

“I’m sorry Frase,” Ray said. “I wish I could do something to help.” 

Fraser sighed, an almost imperceptible movement, but Ray saw it, all of a sudden realizing that all Fraser really wanted right now was to rest, and he was hanging around, taking advantage of Fraser’s inability to be impolite.

“Let me get out of your hair, buddy. You look like you need a nap.” Ray got up from where he was leaning and headed to the door.

Fraser immediately perked up, the momentary crack in his façade covered up with a blanket of Canadian-ism. 

“I’m sorry, Ray, I’m being rude, sit down, let me get you something to drink.” 

“No, I’m alright, I need to get back to the precinct. You get some rest, for me, okay?”

Fraser relaxed into his chair, still frowning, but did not press the issue. 

_Holy shit_ . Ray thought. _He must be dead on his feet._

Out in the corridor, Ray nearly tripped over Diefenbaker, who had been waiting dutifully by the door, and was now scowling up at Ray.

“Hey Dief,” Ray knelt down to give the wolf a rub. “You keep an eye on him, yeah?”

The wolf huffed and laid down on the carpet, head on his paws.

“You’re bummed about not going home too, huh? Don’t worry homesickness ain’t lethal-oh.”

Ray froze mid-pet and stared at Fraser’s closed office door. The dark circles, the lack of appetite, the books about the arctic, it all made sense. 

Fraser is homesick. 

_Oh, Frase._ Ray thought, standing up abruptly, halfway to opening the door when he paused. _What can I even do?_

It wasn’t like he could change the fact that Inspector Thatcher had shafted Fraser, and Fraser was too polite to put up a fight. 

With a glance at his watch, Ray decided there was nothing he could do, he had already burned up the entirety of his lunch hour at the consulate and he needed to get back to the precinct. 

It wasn’t until he was two blocks from the precinct that it hit him and he nearly ran a red light. 

Maybe he couldn’t bring Fraser to the Arctic, but maybe he could bring the Arctic to Fraser. 

* * *

Back at his desk in the precinct, Ray attempted to make a list of all the things he knew about the Arctic. 

  1. It’s cold.
  2. Polar bears
  3. ~~Penguins~~
  4. Empty
  5. Really Cold



With a groan, Ray crumpled up the list and chucked it into the wastebasket. 

“Frannie?” Ray called to the civilian aid across the bullpen.

“Yeah?” She responded, barely looking up from the file on her desk.

“What do you know about the arctic?”

“The arctic?” Francesca snorted. “It’s cold.”

“More than that.”

“I don’t know, ask Fraser.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?” Francesca frowned as she made her way across the bullpen. “Did you and Fraser have a lover’s quarrel or something?”

Ray leaned back in his chair with an exasperated sigh. “No. No, you were right. Fraser’s isn’t fine, he’s homesick.”

“Yes! I told you so!” 

“Hey, hey real nice Frannie. Fraser is really hurting here and you’re happy about it?” Ray shook his head, in mock disappointment.

Francesca rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean. So what are you going to do about it?” 

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out!” 

“And that’s going so well,” Francesca scoffed and perched herself on the edge of Ray’s desk. “Maybe what Fraser needs is company.”

“The Arctic is one of the most isolated places on Earth.”

Francesca rolled her eyes. 

_If she keeps doing that her eyes are going to roll out of her head._ Ray mused.

“Womanly company.”

The thought of Frannie flirting with and comforting Fraser made something in Ray’s gut twist. Usually, he could deal with Francesca’s flirting in the precinct, mainly because Fraser was so oblivious to it and so politely disinterested when he realized what was going on, but that didn’t mean he was going to encourage it.

“No.”

“But I think-“

“No, Francesca,” Ray repeated, then seized the opportunity to change the subject as Welsh walked by.

“Lieutenant!” 

Welsh stopped and turned to face Ray. “Detective?” 

“Can I talk to you for a minute, alone?” Ray side-eyed Francesca, hoping that Welsh would catch his drift. 

Welsh glanced at Frannie and nodded. “My office.”

Inside the office, Welsh stretched his back deeply before sitting heavily in his desk chair. “What can I do for you, Vecchio? Where’s the Mountie?”

“That’s what I want to talk to you about-“ Ray began.

“Don’t tell me you’ve lost Constable Fraser,” Welsh cut him off. “I swear, that man can’t walk down the block without stumbling into a crime. Did he get kidnapped again?”

“I didn’t lose Fraser, he’s at the consulate, resting.”

This made Welsh pause. “Resting? Is he sick?”

“Yeah, I guess you could say that. I think he’s homesick, sir.”

Welsh gave Ray a hard stare. “Homesick? He’s a grown man.”

Ray shrugged. “Frannie was the one that pointed it out, but the more I think about it, the more I see it. The unpredictable hours, the total lack of appetite, and now that I think of it, I haven’t seen him lick something or caught him talking to himself in at least two weeks.”

Welsh’s frown deepened. “Maybe you’re right. Two days ago I saw someone bump into Fraser on the way out of the precinct, and Fraser didn’t apologize, he just looked startled. Like he was off somewhere else.” 

Ray nodded. “That’s what I’m talking about, he’s acting like a normal person. It’s weirding me out.” 

“So why doesn’t he just go on leave for a bit? He’s got to have some holidays saved up.” 

“The Ice Queen screwed him over.”

“And the other one?”

“Turnbull’s visiting family.” 

Welsh nodded. “Oh, I understand now.”

“What’s there to understand?”

“Constable Fraser has seniority over Turnbull, doesn’t he?”

“Yeah...” Ray slowly began to connect the dots. “Wait you think Fraser gave up his time off so Turnbull could go?”

“Well Fraser doesn’t have any family left, so he probably thought it was the right thing to do to let Turnbull have his holiday time.”

Ray frowned. He hadn’t thought of that. 

“So is this all you wanted to tell me, detective? Can I get back to running the precinct now?” 

“No, no,” Ray said hastily. “I wanted your help with something.”

“What?”

“I want to do something to help Fraser feel better, do you have any ideas?”

“He’s your partner,” Welsh replied.

“Yeah, but you’ve known him since he came to Chicago, you must know something I don’t.” 

Welsh was silent for a while. So long that Ray was beginning to wonder if he should leave when Welsh spoke. 

“Smithbauer.”

“What?” 

“Who,” Welsh corrected. “He was involved in a case before you got here. Hockey player for the Blackhawks that was paid to throw a game. He took the money, but won the game and in the process angered some very dangerous people. He was having a difficult time and Fraser tried to help him.”

“What’s this got to do with Fraser being homesick?”

“He grew up with Fraser, they were very close.” 

“Oh,” Ray said, thinking he understood. “So you think I should call this Smithbauer and he’ll be able to cheer up Fraser.”

Welsh shook his head. “No, I doubt Smithbauer would answer even if you could find a number to reach him at. The press were not kind to him after he got kicked out of the NHL. But when he was here he and Fraser were chased by some thugs of the people Smithbauer wronged, and they out-skated them.”

“Out-skated?” 

“Yeah,” Welsh let out something between a laugh and a sigh. “You should’ve seen Vecchio when he tried to fill out the report on that one. When he told me about it he couldn’t get over how giddy Fraser was.”

“Giddy?” Ray tried to imagine Fraser as giddy, but couldn’t even form a picture. 

“Hard to believe, I know. But Vecchio knew Fraser better than anyone here, and he said he’d never seen Fraser so...so uninhibited.” 

“So you think skating will help him feel better?” 

Welsh shrugged. “It’s worth a shot.”

Ray nodded. “Thanks, Lieu.”

“Don’t mention it. Now go get some paperwork done, you’ve got so many reports on your desk the legs are starting to bend.”

“Yes sir,” Ray nodded again and made his way to the door.

“Ray? One more thing.”

“Yeah?”

“Try to remember that Fraser doesn’t operate like the rest of us, but he’s still a person.”

* * *

Ray spent the rest of the day watching the clock, planning the evening he had ahead of him. He knew Fraser had a pair of skates, and he had gotten Frannie to search for skating ponds, but it still didn’t seem like enough. Pondering what he could do, Ray couldn’t help but replay his conversation with Lieutenant Welsh over and over again.

_“I want to do something to help Fraser feel better, do you have any ideas?”_

_“He’s your partner.”_

_“...Vecchio knew Fraser better than anyone here…”_

Vecchio. Oh, how Ray had grown to simultaneously hate and love that name. He’d come back to Chicago to play a part, to be the Vecchio outlined to him by the PD’s file; a terminal bachelor with a temper and a taste for fine things, be it food, cars, clothes, or women. He’d been ready for that part. What he wasn’t ready for was the partner that came along with Vecchio’s badge. At first, he thought he could roll with it, he’d had partners before, and while he hadn’t preferred it, it wasn’t the end of the world. Then he met Fraser and realized he’d inherited a best friend. At first, playing nice with a walking etiquette handbook in a Santa suit was difficult. Oftentimes he found himself understanding why the former Vecchio had shot Fraser. Because to be honest, who wouldn’t want to shoot him after hearing him say “thank you _kindly_ ” for the nine millionth time? On all accounts, their partnership should’ve been a disaster, but then he caught glimpses of it and understood why Vecchio had kept Fraser around. 

What was it? 

It was the way Fraser rolled his eyes at Dief when he thought no one was looking. It was the way he laughed when he thought it was unprofessional to do so, but just couldn’t hold it in, and then got embarrassed. It was how he noticed things, how he noticed people, that everyone else overlooked. 

Yet for all these little snapshots of Fraser he had captured and squirrelled away, he still found that he knew very few things about the mountie.

Sure, he knew the speech. _Constable Benton Fraser of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police Constable. I first came to Chicago on the trail of the killers of my father, and for reasons that don't need exploring at this juncture, I have remained, attached as liaison with the Canadian Consulate_.

He did not, however, know the reasons that did not need exploring at this juncture, or much else for that matter. Everyone thought Fraser was an open book, mainly because he seemed to be ever willing to tell you a tangentially related tale of his escapades in the Great White North, but if you actually listened you would understand that the stories never told you anything about Fraser that you didn’t already know. Fraser was like a museum. You could see all the paintings and artifacts, but no one made it past the velvet rope. No one could touch him. It drove Ray insane. 

_But Vecchio knew him_ . Ray thought, almost bitterly. _What did he do that I’m not?_

“McKinley,” Francesca said sharply, jerking Ray out of his thoughts.

“What?”

“That’s where you should take Fraser. It’s the farthest rink from the city centre and is in a total snoozefest of a neighbourhood. I doubt even Fraser could find a crime to investigate there.” She said, handing him a piece of paper with the address scribbled on it.

“Oh, thanks.” 

“Yeah, yeah.”

“No Frannie, I really mean it, thank you.”

Francesca gave a little shrug. “I helped you for Fraser, don’t get ahead of yourself. And you better get going if you want to get Fraser and get to the rink before sunset.”

Glancing at the clock, Ray was shocked to find that it was already past four. 

“Shit, I owe you one Frannie!” Ray called, rushing out of the bullpen to his car. 

He didn’t hear her response, but it was definitely snide. 

* * *

This time, Ray knocked.

“Hey Frase, open up!”

“One moment.”

Ray heard the thump of socked feet on the hardwood, then the door opened, revealing a union suit-clad Fraser and a scowly wolf.

“Ray?” Fraser’s forehead wrinkled as he examined his partner. “Is something wrong?”

“What? Can’t a guy just stop by to have a chat with his partner, his buddy, whenever he gets the notion to?”

“Well-yes, I suppose so. Did you get the notion to stop by to have a chat?”

“No, get dressed, we’re going out.”

“Out?”

“Yes, out, now grab some clothes and get in the car.”

“Ray, I really don’t-” Fraser began.

“Nu-uh, clothes and car, now.”

Fraser appraised Ray for a moment as if he was trying to determine if this was an argument he could win, then sighed. “Okay, where are we going?”

“Surprise.”

“Then how am I to know how to dress?”

“Warm,” Ray replied. “And no uniform.”

“Ray-”

“Fraser, I swear to God.”

“Alright, Ray,” Fraser said and closed the door.

As Fraser got into the car, Diefenbaker in tow, Ray couldn’t help but assess him. It was so rare to see Fraser out of his serge that Ray had forgotten how normal, how good, he looked in plain old jeans and a stretched-out sweater. How the jeans hugged his legs, and how the sweater looked so warm, so inviting-

“Ray...Ray….Ray.” Fraser’s nudging broke his train of thought.

“Yeah?”

“Are you ready to go?”

“Yeah,” Ray reached into his pocket, then paused. “Shit, I think I dropped my wallet in the consulate, give me a sec.”

“Oh, let me go look for it. You see, one time while I was portaging a difficult stretch of the McKenzie river I lost my pack and- ”

“No!” Ray said hastily. “I’ll go, it’s my wallet.”

Then he got out of the car, grabbing his duffle bag from the backseat as he went.

 _Smooth_. Ray thought as he jogged into Fraser’s office then dislodged and opened his storage trunk for the second time that day. Ignoring all the more interesting contents, Ray scooped up Fraser’s hockey skates and stuffed them into this duffle bag, then replaced the lock and pushed the trunk back into place. Then made his way to Turnbull’s office, and crossed his fingers that Turnbull was as stereotypically Canadian as he acted.

Five minutes later, and two pairs of skates heavier, Ray returned to the car.

“What’s in the duffel bag?” Fraser asked as Ray started the car.

“None of your business,” Ray said, then glanced back at Dief, who was currently nosing the zipper of the duffel. “And none of yours either.”

“Ray-” Fraser sounded like he was teetering from confused to frustrated.

“Just...Just trust me, okay? Can you do that? I promise everything is okay.”

Fraser nodded. “I trust you with my life.”

Ray tried not to think too hard on that. 

* * *

Driving, when Fraser had no clue where they were going, turned out to be an exceptionally entertaining endeavour. 

With every turn, Fraser’s brows would furrow a little more as he tried to parse out where they headed, and frankly, Ray found it adorable. So if he took a few extra turns just to screw with Fraser, well, that’s between Ray and his conscience. 

Eventually, Ray reached McKinley park, and he saw a glimmer of excitement in Fraser’s eyes, though it was quickly tempered with his standard dose of professionalism to a look of curiosity. 

“What are we doing here?” Fraser asked.

“Open the bag and you tell me.”

Fraser glanced between the duffel bag and Ray, then back to the duffel bag as he pulled it into the passenger seat and opened it. 

Fraser’s face went blank. “These are my skates.”

“Yeah,” Ray rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly embarrassed. “I thought that maybe you would want to- we don’t have to- but just if you liked to, uh, well- noticed-”

“Ray,” Fraser said softly, and Ray looked up to meet his gaze, realizing that his blank expression was gone and Fraser was smiling, albeit cautiously. The kind of smile that was more in a person’s eyes than anywhere, the smile of someone who was happy but also nervous.

“Are you asking me to go skating with you?”

“Well you’ll skate, I’ll mostly fall, but yeah, if you want to.” Ray glanced out the windshield, at his hands, at Diefenbaker, anywhere to not make eye contact with Fraser.

“Ray, I’d love to.”

* * *

“Okay, that’s good, now move your left foot forward, and now you right, now the left.” Fraser coached, hovering at Ray’s side as he moved at a practically glacial pace across the ice.

“Yeah...Left...Right...Left...Oh, fu-” Ray teetered dangerously then tipped face-first into the snowdrift ringing the pond.

“Ray!” Fraser sounded half worried, half-amused as he helped Ray to sit up. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah, yeah, just my pride.” Ray waved Fraser off, grateful it was cold enough to blame his blush on the weather.

“Let me help you up, I promise you, it only gets easier.”

“No, no, you go skate for a bit. You don’t need to hang around me, I’m just going to sit here a little while.”

Fraser paused, obviously torn between what he believed was the polite course of action and the enticement of an entire pond to himself. “Are you sure, Ray? It really is no troub-”

“Positive,” Ray made the shooing motions with his hands. “Go. Show me what you can do.”

Fraser nodded. “Alright, but I must admit that I’m nowhere as talented as most, as a matter of fact-”

“Fraser.”

“Yes, Ray?”

“Just skate.”

“Right, yes.” Fraser agreed, then pushed away from the edge of the pond, and-

 _Holy shit._ Ray thought. _It’s like he’s flying._

Watching Fraser skate, Ray decided, was a religious experience. Every movement, every stride seemed effortless, seemed fluid. Fraser wasn’t human, he was a shadow passing by on the wall, he was the tongue of flame that devoured the phosphor of the match tip, he was oil moving on water. He was beautiful.

Fraser switched from forward to backward with no more than a twist of his hips, his pace never faltering, his balance never wavering. Then upon reaching the far edge of the pond, he came to a stop, coming near horizontal with the ice, and then took off again, blades flashing in the moonlight. 

_Now I see what Vecchio was going on about._ Ray thought.

Gone was the police officer with his collar up to his Adam’s Apple, and in his place there was something wilder, something freer. Something that could not be contained in city limits. 

Ray felt like he could watch Fraser skate for an eternity. He made it look effortless. The way he could turn with a simple shift of his weight, the way he moved like he weighed nothing. Ray found himself captivated just by the simple beauty of his strides; how he weaved up the ice, leaving a trail of crescent moon marks behind him like wakes from a boat. Put together with the near musical sound of Fraser’s skates slicing through the top layer of ice, Ray felt like he was watching someone dance. And in a way he was. Ray had always thought Fraser was too uptight to dance, but now he realized he just had never seen Fraser on the right dance floor. This was him dancing. 

“This ice is great,” Fraser said, stopping next to Ray with a shower of glittering snow. “But that is no excuse, I’m sorry, it is rude of me to make you sit here waiting for me. You must be freezing."

“I’m fine, Frase, stop mother henning,” Ray brushed off the apology, even though now that he wasn’t being distracted by Fraser, he actually felt quite cold. “You have fun out there?”

Fraser’s eyes glittered. “It’s so nice to skate again, I’ve missed this. Thank you for bringing me here.”

“Don’t mention it.” Ray picked at an invisible fleck of lint on his coat. “I’m sorry you had to skate alone, but I’m a menace out there.”

Fraser chuckled. “Maybe there is a way to remedy that. Could you stand up, please?”

Ray didn’t quite understand, but he climbed to his feet regardless. 

Skating so he was behind Ray, Fraser gently placed his hands on Ray’s hips. 

“Is this alright?” Fraser asked quietly. 

Ray nodded, not trusting himself to find the words to express how very alright he felt about Fraser’s hands on him. 

“Okay, we’re going to go slow,” Fraser said, and then Ray suddenly felt himself moving as Fraser began to skate around the pond, gently pushing Ray along with him. 

“This is how my mother taught me to skate,” Fraser said softly, his mouth near Ray’s toque-covered ear. “I was three at the time.”

“Three?” Ray managed to respond. “They had you on skates at three?”

Fraser hummed. “It’s quite normal in Canada to start skating at a young age. It’s a part of the culture, almost everyone skates, or at least learned how at one point. In fact, some of my dearest memories of my childhood are from skating.”

Ray couldn’t help himself. “With Smithbauer?”

Almost instantly, Ray felt Fraser stiffen. 

“Oh...Some of them, yes.” Fraser was clearly forcing an unaffected tone. “How did you- who told you about Mark?”

“Welsh did, he told me about that case you had about him, said you were friends.”

Again, Ray felt an almost imperceptible tightening of Fraser’s grip on him. 

“You were friends, right?” Ray asked.

“Yes!” Fraser answered hastily. “We were very close as children. When we got older…things changed, but it all turned out for the best.”

Ray took this as a sign that Fraser did not want to keep talking about Smithbauer, and they skated in silence for a while.

 _Things changed…_ Ray thought. He couldn’t help but wonder if things changed in the way he thought they had, but he knew he couldn’t ask Fraser that. He’d be liable to melt into the ground if Ray even hinted that the relationship was anything more than friendship.

“Ray...Ray….Ray?”

“Yeah?” Ray asked, snapping out of his thoughts and realizing that they had stopped moving, though he noticed with a hint of satisfaction that Fraser had not moved his hands yet. 

“I said it is past eleven, maybe we should call it a night? You must be freezing.”

“You’ve been out here just as long as me.” Ray pointed out. 

“Yes, but I grew up being cold, I’m used to it.” 

Ray rolled his eyes. “No one gets used to freezing.”

“Well, we could stay out until I get cold if you’d like to test it.”

“No!” Ray answered quickly. “I probably have frostbite already, I can’t feel my face or my toes or my hands.”

Suddenly, Fraser was spinning him around so they were face to face, nearly sending him ass over tea kettle, but Fraser once again steadied him with a hand on his hip. 

“I don’t see any signs of frostbite,” Fraser said, then brought his hand to his mouth and pulled his mitten off with his teeth. “But just to be sure…"

Ray was silent as Fraser’s bare hand gently felt around his face, then tipped his jaw up so the moonlight illuminated his face.

“No frostbite,” Fraser confirmed. “But your skin is quite cold, I think we should get you inside.”

Ray nodded, not trusting himself with words, as his brain was too busy memorizing the way Fraser’s hand felt against his cheek.

“Good, shall we?” Fraser coughed and removed his hand from Ray’s face, suddenly all stiff and proper again. 

* * *

Back in the GTO, silence hung heavy. Ray could tell that Fraser was thinking hard about something, his fingers unconsciously rubbing his eyebrow. Something was troubling him, yet Ray couldn’t figure out what. 

_He was so happy when we were skating,_ Ray thought. _What happened?_

_Oh God. What if this just made him miss home more?_

Ray cursed himself, then glanced over at Fraser, who was still lost in thought.

 _Why aren’t you happy?_ Now Ray was getting frustrated. _What does that frozen tundra have that you want so badly?_

 _Why is Chicago not enough for you?_ Ray could feel the first flickers of rage in his stomach. 

_Frase, why am_ I _not enough for you?_

That was it. Ray couldn’t handle it anymore. Slamming on the brakes, he whirled to face Fraser, ignoring Dief’s yelp as he flew off the back seat and Fraser’s startled “Good heavens!” as he caught himself on the dash. 

“What the fuck, Fraser?! What in the absolute hell?!”

“I beg your pardon-” Fraser began, obviously confused, but Ray was not having it.

“No! Just no! I don’t want any of your polite bullshit Canadian routine! I want you to tell me the truth, I want to know why in the everlasting fuck you didn’t go to the bloody deep freeze you call a country this year when you obviously love it so goddamn much!” 

Ray was beginning to rant now. 

“I mean what does it have that Chicago doesn’t? Snow? Well, newsflash buddy, we’ve got that white shit here too for nearly four months of the year! And before you say anything, I know it ain’t the same, but it’s got to count for something, ain’t it? I tried so hard, so goddamn hard to help you feel less homesick, and it’s for nothing. Don’t I count for something?! No? Well, why don’t you just go home then? Just get out of this country and away from me, and go HOME!” 

“I CAN’T!” Fraser shouted at him, his face contorted in a way Ray had only seen on the rarest of occasions when Fraser was right and truly pissed. 

For a second Ray found himself genuinely scared. Fraser was bigger than him and easily stronger, if he decided he’d had enough of Ray’s lip, he didn’t like his odds. Especially if he factored in the wolf.

Then, as quickly as it came, Fraser’s anger evaporated. 

“I can’t,” Fraser repeated, this time all of his fight gone, and he was back to being the shell that Ray saw at the consulate that morning.

“What do you mean you can’t?” Ray was still angry, but he was no longer so enraged that he couldn’t hear the pain in Fraser’s voice. “You have leave saved up, don’t you? You could’ve pulled rank on Turnbull."

Fraser shook his head. “That doesn’t matter. I let Turnbull go instead of me because the only place I wanted to go was back to the Yukon, and I couldn’t go there.”

“Why not?”

“The Crown has reopened the investigation into corruption in the Royal Canadian Mounted Police that was started after I found the killers of my father. No one in the RCMP is very fond of me at the moment. I’d be a walking target.”

“So you can’t go home because they hate your guts and would probably have you killed?” Ray summarized.

“In a manner of speaking, yes.” Fraser agreed quietly.

“So fuck ’em. You’re better off without them.”

Fraser sighed and rubbed his eyes. “They’re all I’ve got left, Ray. The RCMP, the Yukon, that’s it. I don’t have any family outside of them, and the longer I’m in Chicago… It’s hard to explain. I miss having a place, somewhere I fit. I know if I go back North I’ll be just as alone, arguably more, nothing will bring back my family, but being alone up there feels right. Like I’m obeying the natural order of things. Being alone here, I just feel...lonely.”

“You’re wrong, Frase,” Ray said, looking straight out the windshield. He couldn’t bear to meet Fraser’s eyes.

“In what way?”

“In the way that you aren’t all alone.” Ray bit his lip, trying to decide if he was ready to cross this line. “You have me.”

Fraser was silent for a long time until he finally said. “My father once told me-”

“No offence Frase, but your father gave awful advice.” Ray cut him off.

Then, against all odds, Fraser started to laugh.

Big, proper, full-body laughter that was so surprising, so infectious that Ray couldn’t help but join in. 

“You’re-you’re right, Ray,” Fraser said between bouts of laughter. “He gives truly terrible advice.”

Ray nodded and tried to stifle his laughter, but he couldn’t do it. It was such a relief, a release of all of the emotions he had felt today, the sadness, the joy, the hope, the anger. 

“Don’t give me that look, it’s true,” Fraser said under his breath, making Ray pause and follow Fraser’s gaze to the rearview mirror. 

Obviously, there was no one there, save for a now snoozing Diefenbaker. 

Ray decided he wasn’t going to touch that one with a twelve-foot pole. Not tonight.

“Okay, I think we both need some sleep,” Ray said, shifting the car into drive.

“Agreed.”

Silence descended on the car once again, but this time it rested lightly on the passengers.

That is, of course, until Fraser decided to speak.

“Pardon me Ray, but I believe you may have just missed the turn to the consulate."

“Yeah, I’m not taking you back to that glorified jail cell. You shouldn’t be alone tonight. You’re staying with me.” 

“Oh, I don’t want to intrude,” Fraser began.

“You won’t be.” 

“And your turtle, what about Diefenbaker?”

“Dief can sleep in the bedroom.”

“But-”

“Seriously Frase?” Ray sighed. “You can’t tell me you’d rather be alone in that empty building, which is definitely haunted, and sleep on that cinder block you call a bed.”

“It really is a most uncomfortable bed,” Fraser admitted quietly. 

“See!” 

“Though I can assure you that as of now there are no ghosts in the consulate.” Fraser’s eyes drifted back to the rearview mirror.

“I’ll keep that under advisement,” Ray said as he pulled up in front of his apartment complex. “But you wouldn’t make me drive all the way across town, now would you?”

“No.”

“Great, let's go.” Ray made shooing motions with his hands.

“I can walk, it really is no trouble.”

“Yeah,” Ray nodded. “You can walk your idiot butt right through that door and up the stairs to my apartment.”

Fraser paused, his brow furrowed as if there was an argument going on inside his head, then he huffed and got out of the car. 

“I have to be back at the consulate for six,” Fraser said, playing his final card. He knew Ray didn’t like being woken early.

Except Ray was expecting this. “And being the perfect houseguest you are, when you wake up you’ll leave so quietly you won’t even wake the turtle.”

“I suppose so.”

“I’m glad you’ve come to a decision, now let’s go before I fall asleep on the steps and freeze to death.”

As they made their way into the building, Ray caught out of the corner of his eye that Fraser was murmuring something to Dief, who trailed a step behind them. He was smiling.

Ray would do anything to keep that smile. 

* * *

Up in the apartment, the pair fell into a rhythm as they each prepared for bed. While Fraser was in the washroom, Ray found some sheets for the couch, then as Ray brushed his teeth, Fraser got the sheets onto the couch. 

Leaning in the doorway of his bedroom, Ray watched as Fraser folded his clothes with freakish precision and belatedly wondered if he should offer to share his bed with Fraser. Ultimately, he decided against it. Something about it didn’t feel quite right like he’d be taking advantage of Fraser’s loneliness to fulfill his own wishes, which he didn’t want. He wanted Fraser to share a bed with him because Fraser wanted to be with Ray, not just because he was lonely.

 _Maybe another night._ Ray decided.

“Ray?” Fraser’s voice was soft, but it still startled him out of his thoughts and made him look at Fraser. 

Fraser was perched on the edge of the couch, both hands clutching his folded blue-jeans. He was the textbook definition of tense, but his eyes were fixed on Ray.

_Those eyes will be the death of me._

“Yeah?” Ray said, matching Fraser’s tone.

“Thank you.”

Instantly Ray wanted to ask for what, but one look at Fraser’s face told him everything.

Thank you for trying to cure my homesickness.

Thank you for treating me like a person and not like an alien, as everyone else does.

Thank you for not leaving me alone.

At a loss for words, Ray just nodded, then said the only thing he could think to say.

“I’ll pick you up from the consulate at noon tomorrow.”

“I know,” Fraser replied and then lay down to go to sleep because he understood what Ray was saying.

_I love you too, Ray._

* * *

In the morning, Ray wakes to an empty apartment, a stack of folded blankets on his couch, and a note taped to the milk carton in the fridge. 

_Sometimes home is a place. Sometimes it is a person._


End file.
